Parenthesis
by June84
Summary: Peter wakes up in the hospital and he realises he's not from this universe so he decides to leave, but before leaving, he needs to know he still has something to hold on to.


_Summary: Peter wakes up in the hospital and he realises he's not from this universe so he decides to leave, but before leaving, he needs to know he still has something to hold on to. _

**A/N: I've has this idea in my mind for a really long time now and finally, I decided to put this into words.**

_I just want something to believe in:__  
__it's a lonely, lonely road I'm on- this side of paradise._  
This side of paradise – Bryan Adams.

**Parenthesis.**

His bones walk, tired – when it's late at night you feel your muscles screaming to get some rest. Only there's no rest left. Not this way.

The revelation has become a splinter in his head – struggling to kill every possible sign of life inside of him. He's slowly forgetting who he really is only now he wonders, deep down, what if he never knew who he really was? The doubt was always there, the lack of certain memories, the discussion about those things he apparently liked when he was a kid – apparently has always been a variable in a system of equations, never a result.

And now it _is_ a result.

Apparently, he's been living in this side for most part of his life – he was born in the other side; and he's from nowhere.

Apparently, he's not forgetting who he is because he never really knew who he was- apparently, there's nothing to forget because there's nothing to remember.

But her.

Her eyes transcend both universes; her eyes have created a galaxy of their own. He's just a silent witness that has been facing the ravine for so long he's no longer afraid of jumping.

Only not tonight.

Tonight, no profound introspection could ever tell him those things he wants to hear. No explanation could bring the answers he needs to find. No sound could mesmerize his senses, in this pause of life, this parenthesis he's now immersed in. He's now an intersection of places and faces that are slowly drifting away, so faraway and so close now, becoming two different realities trying to tear him apart during this dark communion of universes.

And him. He realises her. He does.

He's been dreaming about her, back in the hospital. Only no words were spoken, just her face, and silence, and peace. Not even a sign of that desperate, silent kiss that felt so real but never really happened; back in Jacksonville.

That's why he's now standing outside her door, knowing she's not home but still standing there. Waiting for something that's not going to happen.

Not tonight, and not in a long time.

Sometimes he wonders if she still remembers. His eyes look tired, and so he is. Standing outside her door, waiting for someone who's not home, remembering a kiss that never really happened; hoping to find the strength to knock on a door that no one will open, willing to have her right in front of him and see her. Just see her. And stare at her before he goes. And look her in the eyes and marvel at the peace they can bring him. But apparently she's not coming home. Not tonight.

His bones walk, tired.

He now walks out her building, yet he's not free to go.

He's now trying to hold on to that image hesaw a few hours ago: her face, back in the hospital when he woke up. He still has her to hold on to. He knows. She could be the restoration of all things corrupted.

_Could she?_

He doesn't think she is. He doesn't believe she is. He _knows_ she is. The notion is just so easy that's almost impossible not to think about it. It's just so fragile that all its splendour comes from all its strength and all its strength comes from the fear, the weakness they both know they hide inside each other.

So sinister that becomes adorable.

So bright. So diaphanous.

So perfect that makes him tremble. So rustically combined that ends up fitting in almost harmonically.

So special that even turning away, remains the same.

In his car, he still waits for her to come home but she's not coming home tonight. Not yet, apparently.

Sometimes he wonders if she still remembers how many times he called her 'sweetheart' when they first met.

She does, he knows.

He can leave now.

He still has her to hold on to.


End file.
